(no subject)

It's all right.

It's not so bad, this, as endings go.

It's the last page in a good book; a lady with a kind smile on a pale horse, who reaches out her hand as if to say, Come and see.

It's the door opening, and an ancient man slipping through, bearded, robed and wreathed in light. In his eyes are stars and on his brow a golden crown.

"Er ..." he says, "hello. Er, look, I'm sorry I'm a bit late. I've had the most ghastly time, all sorts of things cropping up at the last moment."

His coming is foretold; it is written. But then -

But then, this is not just the end of the universe. This is the end of all universes. And it might be written differently somewhere else. Where you can't read it. In bigger letters. Underlined.

(Twice.)

This might not be the end. The pages of the book might just have got stuck together.

After all, these sorts of things happen, when you read in a bar.

"Er," the man says, "how are we for time? Have I just got a min-"


+++ Divide By Cucumber Error. Please Reinstall Universe And Reboot +++


This is how the world ends.

++?????++
Out of Cheese Error.
Redo From Start.
Redo From Start.
Redo From Start.


Not with a bang, but with a ffffff
fwwww

wwwwwwwiiii

iiiiiiiiiiiiiiii-

(no subject)

T H I N G S   F A L L   A P A R T

T H E   C E N T R E   C A N N O T   H O L D

the wizard of the Jundland Wastes, Force ghost, Jedi spirit, the Force will be with you, the Living Force

It's about letting go...

[Millitimed to shortly before things went wahooni-shaped.]

The foreboding that started with the explosion has only been getting worse. He was one of those who lost their solidity when time, space and the other began to leak through the cracks in the Window, and he hasn't gotten it back.

Then a wound in the Force appeared in the sky, and he knew it was time.

He's sitting near the door, waiting for it to appear. He's flickering a lot.

[As noted here, Obi-Wan as we've known him will not be making the move. If you want to say goodbye, this is your chance. Open until March 7.]
magic

(no subject)

Tom Riddle is not best pleased. This is... unacceptable.

He stands in front of the House of Arch painting. The dogs have stopped playing poker. The Alsatian watches the disintegration of the bar with a baleful look. The boxer howls periodically.

It may be time to break the portal to the House. There are currently no residents who would be trapped in the House. They haven't offered the House as a refuge for that reason, although Tom or Door could open to wherever necessary to return guests home.  He can easily make his way back to the Underside without the portal; he's done it before.

But if they lose Milliways, they lose the conduit to Haven, where Ingress is at school. They can go to her, but she and Megwyn will be cut off from them.

This is far more serious than he ever guessed things could get. After all this time, all these crises - is this truly the end?

"Well, lads," he says to the dogs, "it may be time for you lot to come with me."

The dogs whimper and whine in agreement.
stare

(no subject)

Alanna has been in an especially foul mood since she returned from Milliways.

They are all at court now, preparing for the voyage to Carthak. Soon Alanna and Nuamir will be on their way and Adam would return to Olau with the children, but the Lioness can not seem to shake the dark, worried mood she'd brought back from the end of the universe.

After a few hours of this, Adam manages to coax the truth out of her.

"It's ending," she croaks, explaining her conversation with Blodwen.

Adam frowns. "No, it can't be."

"It is."

"It can't," he insists, gesturing wildly in frustration.

Standing, Alanna scowls at her husband and holds out her hand.

---

It takes a strong push to get the door open. Alanna steps through and sucks in a breath, again feeling that sense of wrongness, and waits.

The Antichrist enters the bar for the first time in years, and if what Alanna feels is akin to small magical shocks all over her skin, Adam looks like someone just dropped a hair dryer in his bath.

His mouth drops open.

"WASN'T ME!"  

The Antichrist, bringer of the end of times - but not THIS time, and not the LAST time, either, for what it's worth - settles into a dark corner of the bar and orders a Very Large Drink.


[OOC: Am here, but more than a bit rusty, and not sure for how long. Kinda like the bar.]
Tattoo

(no subject)

When the odd things started Aang didn't really give them much thought. Milliways was a weird place after all, and so the unexpected should really be expected. If one can truly expect the unexpected. But...as time wore on he became more and more unsettled about the changes to the bar and its environs. The more things began to happen, the less inclined he was to ask about them, and the more he began to believe in an idea that had settled into the back of his guilt-riddled mind: that this was all somehow his fault.

Before the storms hit Aang and Appa had been camping in the forest, but as the weather got increasingly more volatile they took up space in the barn. Appa, who was never very fond of enclosed spaces to begin with, would chafe at the close quarters and would insist upon being let out at least once a day to stretch his legs. And so once a day they would do a lap or two around the lake, fighting against ever increasing winds, and dodging lightning. 

Two days ago Aang was nearly unseated from his spot atop Appa's head due to the wind shears, and yesterday Appa nearly lost control. It was with some trepidation that they ventured out today at all, but by comparison the weather seemed far more mild.

They were wrong.

Which is why, should anyone look up into the burned-red sky, they'll see a small boy on a giant flying bison being pulled out of this world on a blast of cold air. 

Off on the distance, where the horizon meets the lake, there is a flash of brilliant blue light.

(no subject)

In the beginning, it was a nice day.


This is a word which here means 'pleasing', 'agreeable', or 'delightful', so it may come as a surprise to you, dear reader, to hear the day described as such, given the situation in Milliways these past two weeks. But then, 'nice' is such a relative term, don't you agree? And certainly it would be difficult for things to get much worse.

So it is: the unnatural winter outside seems a touch less chilling today, and the blood-red sky perhaps a shade less bloody, reflecting pinkly off the glittering frost and the shallow snowbanks. The general atmosphere inside the bar is a little less oppressive - a mood helped, no doubt, by the fact that this morning, Bar got almost every coffee order right. Even the Observation Window seems to be creaking a tad less oppressively.

Maybe, just maybe, everything's going to work out okay.

[OOC: Millitimed to Thursday.]
MikeHUH?

When It's Time, It's Time

The last month has really taken a toll on Michael, between things getting rougher than normal in Miami and now the end of universe - it's not looking good. At least in Milliways he could slip into a less controlled facsimile of himself, and now that's starting to look less and less viable. He's not sure where he'll end up when the end comes, so three sheets to the wind on beer and scotch he gives himself one last look around at the destruction.

His friends nowhere to be found, he takes what could be his last step through the door leading back to the loft alone. He'll be spending the end back in his own timeline, asleep.

[ooc: Michael's done until after the shift, but he'll be back with a bit of a different perspective on his time at the end of the universe.]